


Chasing Pavements

by RiseHigh



Category: Mr. Selfridge (TV)
Genre: And it's important, Because Mae needs someone to see without her telling, Because it's set after S2, But Victor's there for Mae, F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, In more ways than the Selfridges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiseHigh/pseuds/RiseHigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something brings her to Soho.  She doesn't know what or why, but she's there and so is he.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. November 1914

**Author's Note:**

> Should I give up  
> Or should I just keep chasing pavements?  
> Even if it leads nowhere
> 
> {The story doesn't exactly warrant warnings, but it's set at the end of series two, so there are references to Mae's marriage to Loxley and allusions to the things that went along with it}

When Mae started walking, she didn’t have any particular destination in mind. She had only known that she did not want to immediately return to the Selfridges’. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate their generosity—she wouldn’t be able to fight Loxley in the divorce without them—but the amount of ‘caring’ she received from Rose was draining. Sometimes, it amazed her: the way Rose could care for Harry, their children, his mother, and now her without ever running out of empathy. But at other times—times like today—it made her want to postpone returning to the house as long as possible.

Which is how, she ended up outside a restaurant with shutters drawn. Trying the door, she found it unlocked and walked inside. “We’re closed. We don’t open until…” he trailed off when he saw her. “Friday,” he finished after a moment. “Lady Loxley.”

“Mr. Colleano.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“In Soho?” he questioned. “Why would Lady Loxley come to Soho?”

Mae smiled faintly at the memory. She was surprised he remembered her refusal to go to Soho with him all those years ago—honestly, she was surprised that she remembered the exchange. That was so long ago—she had still thought herself to be invincible back then. Her smile faded. “I won’t be Lady Loxley for much longer.”

“So what they say in the papers is true.”

“Don’t believe everything you read—but yes, I’m getting a divorce.”

“Good.”

She looked at him in surprise.  She never expected him to have an opinion on her marriage to Loxley--let alone be happy that the marriage was ending.

“You’ve been unhappy ever since he returned to London.”

Mae shook her head dismissively and forced a light smile.  She was very good at the fake light smile.  “You’ve barely seen me in the last eight months.”

“And when I have, you’ve been unhappy,” he said and she looked away. Victor saw what the others hadn’t. “Well, except that charity concert,” he added, tilting his head to catch her eye. “You were happy when you were singing.”

“I’ve always been happy when I’m singing,” she admitted

“I could tell.”

She didn’t come here to talk about herself; she still didn’t even know why she came here. “You were pretty happy yourself that night, if I recall.”

“I was.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. Mae had wanted to change the subject but she regretted it when she saw the look on his face. “I know that you’ve fancied her since the store opened.”

“You know what I like, do you?”

“I’m very good at discerning what men like.”

He took a step closer to her. “Well, then you must know that I liked you.”

“You liked my money,” she countered and he nodded in agreement. Mae was glad he didn’t deny it or pretend that they had been some great romance. It was an arrangement—an exchange like all the others—and yet, she didn’t go to the others. She came to him.

He closed what was left of the space between them.  “And you.”

“You liked the sex.”

“With you,” he said before kissing her.

“We were rather good at it,” she said breathlessly.

“I bet we still are.”

Mae arched an eyebrow and glanced around the empty restaurant. “Well, I’m not about to have sex with you on a table.”

“There’s a flat upstairs.”

Victor took her hand and she followed him back through the restaurant and up the stairs. She walked in and scanned the modest flat while taking off her gloves and then her hat. He helped her with her coat and, once it plus the gloves and hat were set on the table, he led her to the bedroom and pulled her close to him. She was lost in him for a moment—her hands moving instinctively to the buttons of his shirt—but she stopped when she felt his hands move to the clasp of her tailored jacket.

“Victor,” she said as she pulled back from his lips. She shouldn’t be doing this—if Loxley found out it would be one more thing he could use against her in the divorce. She should do the smart thing—the strategic thing—and walk away. “We shouldn’t do this.”

His hands lingered on her jacket but stopped moving. “Do you want me to stop?”

She removed her hands from his chest. “Yes.”

“If that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t what he wanted—they had been standing close enough that she had felt what he wanted—but nevertheless he stepped back. He deferred to her, which wasn’t a surprise in and of itself—Victor had always been respectful—but her reaction to him stepping back surprised her. After months of living with Loxley, it was overwhelming to realize that someone would consider her feelings—her wants—over his needs. Mae turned and swallowed the lump in her throat. She should go, but she couldn’t bring herself to move towards the door. She may not have come here for this, but she didn’t want to leave. For the last eight months, she had belonged to Loxley and he did to her whatever he wanted. Even when she had been with Jeremy, it was only to find out information on Loxley’s bank account. It had to stop—she wasn’t going to let him control her anymore.

“No, it’s not," she said decisively.

Victor closed the distance between them, slid his arms around her waist from behind, and pressed his face into the warm skin on her neck. “So it's okay if I do this?” he murmured, kissing his way up to her ear.

For a half second, she thought of Loxley—coming up behind her with his hands and lips possessively covering her skin—and tensed. But when Victor’s tongue darted out for a taste of her ear, she shivered in anticipation rather than fear and nodded for him to continue. His lips never left her neck while his hands returned to the clasps at the front of her jacket. After he slid it from her shoulders, he turned her around and her hands moved back to his chest so she could get back to the buttons of his shirt. Before Mae could even undo the first button, his hands covered hers.

“Are you sure?” he asked again and again she nodded, but his hands didn’t move. Victor must have felt her tense before and now he needed her to say it—he needed to be certain this was what she wanted. “Mae?”

“Yes,” she whispered and he removed his hands. Free to move, she reached behind his neck and ran her fingers through his hair while she kissed him. “Yes,” she repeated against his lips.


	2. November 1914

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {Same cautions about references to Mae's marriage to Loxley apply. Consider yourself warned}

Something was different, Victor realized, as he lay there with the heat of Mae’s arm draped over his chest and listened to the softness of her breathing as it settled back down. Not everything was different, of course. She still laced her fingers through his hair with one hand and pushed her face into his shoulder as she came, but her orgasm had happened quicker than he had expected—quicker than she had expected too based on the look of surprise on her face moments before she buried it into his shoulder. Before he could process any of it she had started moving again, rocking beneath him, until he came as well.

Then he had rolled over onto his back and pulled her closer—half expecting her to resist, but she let him draw her near and she lazily draped that arm over him. It felt natural. While their relationship—if you could even call it that—was never conventional, it had always been straightforward. At least until the end—when he ended it, that was. Looking back, it was foolish of him to push so hard for the restaurant so soon. He hadn’t been ready for it. Sure he could cook and knew how to serve, but he would have floundered when it came to management. Mae had been right, as usual. It wasn’t just about the restaurant though. Agnes had been a large factor. He had been caught up on her then, now, and maybe a part of him would always be, but this—having Mae in his arms—reminded him that Agnes wasn’t everything.

Not that Victor expected things with Mae to go beyond this day. He wouldn’t object if they did, but he knew her well enough to know that his life wasn’t for her. She would never be just a wife of a restaurant owner—she should never be _just_ anything. Mae was a force of nature—even if she had been subdued lately. He was certain that Loxley was to blame for that. Even though she no longer wore his ring, she still carried him with her.

Victor studied her bare finger for a moment before his eyes drifted upwards and noticed what he had thought—hoped—had only been shadows on her arm. But now, as they lay there with sunlight streaming through the curtains, he was sure there it was something. He reached for her arm but as soon as he moved, she pulled it away, confirming his suspicions that something was wrong.

“Mae?” he questioned gently. He couldn’t see her forearm anymore, but he could see faint yellow marks on her upper arm.

“It’s nothing.”

“Can I?” he asked, reaching for her arm again. With a reluctant sigh, she held it out so he could see the marks that marred her skin. They were faded, but it was clear that they were finger marks—caused by a repeated and too hard grip on her wrists.

“It’s fine.” Her voice was soft and he had to strain to hear her. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“But it did.”

He kissed her wrist and lowered her arm back to where it had rested on his chest.  Mae pulled her arm back close to her. For a moment, he thought she would get up and leave the bed, but she stayed.  When she spoke, her voice was distant.

“It was weeks ago."

Weeks ago, and yet she still had bruises. Three weeks ago had been the charity concert that she had attended on Loxley’s arm. And before that… the bastard had been in London for months. Victor looked down at her, hoping to catch her eye, but Mae had her eyes closed. She was tense against him, so he ran his hand down her side in hopes of relaxing her. When he reached the curve of her hip, he remembered a small mark on her thigh. At the time he had dismissed it as nothing, but he couldn’t do that now. Victor pushed the sheet down her hip to reveal not one but three marks—they were faded, but there. He felt sickened when he realized what the pattern was: a thumb and two fingers.

He was about to say something—to ask if his assumption was wrong—but he felt Mae shake her head against his chest.

“Don’t,” she whispered and he pulled the sheet back up over them.

“I’m sorry,” he said before kissing the top of her head. Mae said nothing and they lay there silence until Victor remembered something else. “You were going to go to him,” he realized with horror. “To get the financing for my restaurant.”

“He wasn’t always this violent.”

Her voice sounded so small that Victor didn’t want to push her, but he needed to know. “So he had never…”

“Not like this.”

Victor looked down at her. Her eyes were open now, but she wouldn’t look up at him and merely stared blankly across the room. “But he had?” he asked.

“Most of the time I could control him.”

“But he had?” he asked again and this time she nodded. He had never seen it—never even thought. He had assumed that Mae lived in town and him in the country because she had the upper hand. Maybe she had it at times, but others… His hand brushed against her hip.

“I was his wife,” she said in response to his unasked question.

“That doesn’t…”

“It was his right,” she cut him off. Mae’s tone was flat as she continued, “I married him for his money and his power. I got what I wanted, so it was only fair that he did too.”

“You deserve so much more than that,” he said but she didn’t respond. After a moment, he felt her breath hitch. “Mae?”

She moved to wipe a tear from her face. “I’m fine, Victor.”

“Mae…” he began while watching her sit up. Her back was to him, but he saw her wipe her other eye.

“I don’t want to talk about Loxley. I don’t want to think about Loxley.” She turned to look at him. “I don’t want to think at all.”

It wasn’t a request per se, but one look at her face told him everything. She wore a look of desperation and need and she was more vulnerable than he had ever seen her.

“All right,” he said before claiming her lips. Right then, he would do anything for her. “No more thinking.”


	3. Chapter 3

Victor did what she asked—he had pretty much always done what she asked, but this had been different. He knew exactly what she needed—the quiet, the slow kissing, his tongue sliding over hers, the stroke of his hands and the touch of his mouth over every part of her body, his fingers moving inside her until she couldn’t breathe, his voice in her ear, whispering all the things he wanted to do for her—that she deserved to have done for her. When they finished, she curled up next to him and relaxed into the warmth of his body. Between the soft tap of Victor’s heartbeat against her shoulder and the rhythmic back and forth of his thumb over the inside of her wrist, she found herself drifting off.

“I should be going,” she murmured. “It’s late.”

She felt him shift slightly, presumably to look at the clock. “It’s only half two.”

“Rose will wonder where I am.”

“Tell Mrs. Selfridge you ran into an old friend.” He paused to kiss the palm of her hand. “That you stayed for tea.”

“Tea?” she questioned and he kissed her hand again.

“Yes, tea.”

He lowered her hand back to his chest and she nodded. “All right,” she acquiesced as he began brushing his thumb over the inside of her wrist again. His touch was soothing and it wasn’t long before she was asleep. Sometime later, a movement on the bed woke her.

“Go back to sleep,” he told her as he pulled on his trousers.

“Where are you going?”

“I have a delivery of flatware coming in at 4:00.”

“It’s 4:00?” she asked as he disappeared from sight.

“Not quite.”

Mae had expected to doze, not sleep for well over an hour. She closed her eyes as a wave of embarrassment washed over her. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You looked so peaceful.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him plaintively. “It’s late.”

“Well, you can’t leave with the delivery men down there,” he said as he buttoned his shirt. “So you might as well go back to sleep.” He bent over to kiss her. “Shouldn’t be more than 30 minutes—I’ll wake you when I’m done.”

He was taking care of her—doting on her—she realized, as she watched him leave the bedroom. It was a shade too paternalistic for her usual tastes, but Mae didn’t entirely mind being taken care of. The Selfridges were doing it, but not like this. They were supportive, but they only started caring after she told Harry that Loxley was violent. Harry was her friend—she knew that—but when she had gone to him as a friend he had refused to listen. Yes, he went above and beyond once he knew, but she couldn’t forget how much it hurt when he turned her away—left her alone in the foyer.

Victor though, his actions weren’t motivated by what Loxley had done to her. Well, some of it had been, but Victor hadn’t known about the bruises when he invited her up to his flat. He had invited her up for utterly normal reasons. She had missed normal—she had missed good sex too. Sex with Victor had always been good and this had been no exception. And, while he had been extra attentive and tender, he still treated her normally—not like some fragile thing that Loxley had broken. She wasn’t actually broken, but at times, when she was in that house with him, she had felt like it.

She still felt like it, to be honest. Mae examined her arm and glared at the bruises. They were fading, yes, but they were still there. She wanted them gone. She wasn’t a fool—Mae knew that the memories would remain even after the bruises faded completely, but she wanted the visible traces gone so, at the very least, she wouldn’t have to see Loxley on her skin. She was starting to feel better though. Victor had helped her feel better. It wasn’t just the sex itself—she had enjoyed it, of course—but she felt better because Victor helped her to feel like a person again.

Mae sat up and glanced around the room for her things only to find them stacked neatly at the end of the bed. Victor had collected them off the floor for her. She got out of the bed and started to get dressed. It took some time to get her hair back in order, but once she had her hat and coat on she was confident that no one would find anything amiss—well, perhaps Pimble would notice, but that was hardly a concern. She glanced out the window to confirm that the lorry for the delivery was gone before heading downstairs to the restaurant. “Victor,” she greeted.

“Mae.” He looked at her in surprise. “I thought you were staying in bed.”

“I can’t spend all day in your bed, Victor,” she said with a scolding tone. “Regardless of what you’d like me to do.”

“I was going to make you tea.”

She raised an eyebrow and he walked closer to her. “Oh, you were?”

“Yes.”

“I really must be going.”

“Of course, Lady Loxley.”

“Victor.” She cupped his cheek with her gloved hand. “Thank you for…” she trailed off as she tried to think of a way to quantify what he had done for her. There weren’t words. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “You’re welcome.” He let go of her hand and smiled. “You’re always welcome in my restaurant, Mae.”

She smiled back and glanced around the room. “It really does look nice in here,” she observed. “I’m sure it will be a success.”

“I hope so.”

“It will. That bank won’t regret giving you that loan.”

“How did you know about the loan?” he asked and she smirked in response. “Mae?”

“I have friends at the bank,” she said casually. “I may have put in a good word—something about you being a good investment.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“No, I didn’t,” she agreed.

“Then why?”

“It’s the truth.” Her face became serious as she continued, “I’ve always believed in you, Victor.”

“I don’t deserve that—or you.”

Mae shrugged off his comment and said lightly, “I could say the same.”

“You’d be wrong,” he said sincerely and she rolled her eyes. He could see her self-doubt and a part of her hated him for it, but another part was grateful he was there to remind her. “You would be wrong,” he repeated and she smiled slightly.

“So would you.” He touched the small of her back lightly and led her to door. “Goodbye, Victor,” she said before kissing his cheek.

He opened the door for her. “Goodbye, Mae.”


End file.
